Luckiest girl in the world

Yep, pregnant.  There was no Facebook announcement.  No weird photo of my insides in sentimental sepia tones.  No staged picture of tiny love heart hands on bellies or saved Pinterest boards with announcement ideas.  Getting pregnant has taken a long time and it was one shit fight of a roller coaster to get this far but I didn’t announce it for the world to see.

I embarked on a solo pregnancy for a thousand and one reasons;  all of them debated with friends, family members and sometimes random strangers.  Being a mum was never up for debate, nor was having a family.  At 37 my prince charming is still clearly lost in the wilderness fighting his own dragons and up until now, I’ve never needed anyone else to help me slay mine.  So I did what every good paper bag princess does.  I rolled my eyes, put on my big girl pants and slayed my own.  I swiped right on a donor, I outsourced and paid for the genetic material, shoved the frozen vials under my boobs and took myself to a doctor to make a baby.

I am seventeen weeks away from becoming a mum, and that shit fight of a roller coaster that I took to get here hasn’t slowed down.  It’s come careening around the bend and all I’ve seen are the corners, everest climbs, and gut wrenching drops that will get me through to November.  What I’m learning about these choices is that the consequences are never ending.  The mothers in my life are laughing hysterically, and shouting ‘Welcome to Motherhood!’  But it’s not those consequences that worry me.

I know that Lemon will be loved.  I know that she will have a life surrounded by a village of people who will teach her, love her and show her what it means to be a good human.  It’s not the worry that worries me.

I knew before I signed the forms that I was choosing to bring a baby into a world without a dad.  That decision was the toughest one to battle.  I loved my own dad more than anything in the entire world and choosing to have a baby without one, was the hardest truth to swallow.

I had that conversation with my brother,  the most significant man that would be in my daughter’s life.  Would he take her fishing?  Teach her to drive?  Do all of the things that dad’s do and include her with her cousins like she was his own.  He looked at me like I was an idiot.  ‘Why are we even talking about this? Don’t be an idiot.  Of course she’s coming to the drags.’  Again, I rolled my eyes but knew, without doubt, that my future off spring were going to be in no doubt of their bogan heritage or their place in my family.

What I don’t think I was prepared for until right now is how that would affect me.  She might be ok, but would I?  I’ve lived a long time without a partner.  Long term relationships, men and dating haven’t been kind to me and I haven’t been kind to them.  This is not new information.  I didn’t wake up this morning, roll over, check the bed beside me, and go ‘Oh fuck, there’s no one there!?’

I didn’t have a partner when I made her and I had made peace with that, well I thought I had.  I know families look like all sorts of things.  I know families are made up of people and not a single one of them is the same.  But this new family I was building would never look like I thought it would.

There won’t be a moment where someone who loves me, and Lemon, will be seen in something akin to a Tena lady advertisement.  Walking hand in hand down the street, laughing without bladder control issues, while our offspring is carried in an ergo baby on the chest of a bearded man while we drink coffee from take away cups.  Granted, in this version of my reality, my arse in active wear is pert and my husband’s dimples distract the twenty year old barista, but nonetheless, the sentiment is real.

I am mourning the way I thought my life would look.  It’s ok to be sad about that.  It’s ok to be sad, accept the idea that your world won’t be what you thought it would.  Accepting that the version of your future is not what you wanted is hard, it hurts.  The hurt has to stick to your bones, you live with it but at some point you have to let it go.  You have to look forward.  Look to what will be, not what you thought it would be.  Accept the love you have in your life for what it is, and create a world of your own.

This world building is something I love.  I read fantasy novels, I can do this.  I can build a version of reality where there aren’t Tena lady advertisements, even if one day in the not too distant future, I have to use their products.  This method of family making is growing.   Friends of friends, insight on SBS, mothers’  groups and actual friends are having conversations out loud about building solo families.  I’ve had to think really hard about what I say as part of this conversation because by my own choices, I’ve become an advocate for donor families and solo mum life.   (There’s hashtags there…)

So what is it?  What do you tell someone considering solo mum life?  Easy.

Decide what’s important.  Is having a family more important than your own Tena lady ad?  And if it is, great, get a therapist.  Go to the GP, get a mental health plan and pay a psychologist to talk through the future versions of your life.  Be ready to let go of everything you thought you wanted or never knew you wanted.  Be ready to cry when you walk away from your couple friends holding their babies, but ready to smile when you listen to them complain that their husbands are useless and they can’t leave their offspring alone with them.   If being a mum is not negotiable, then make a plan, build a deadline and talk to a doctor.  Your life will not wait for you.

I am not sorry.  I don’t regret my decision.  Lemon is arriving in November, and when she gets here, I get to start a new life.  It will hurt for a little while longer, but I will learn to let it go.  I will learn to accept the love that has been given to me for what it is, and from there, we’ll build a new life.  Lemon and I.  And the other forty-five members of our village.  Our family will just be a little bit bigger than most.  And for that – she’ll be the luckiest kid in the world.  Dad or no dad.